She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter now. It’s ancient history.”
“Then stop trying to heal me. There’s no good purpose for it. You can’t help me and it will only make you insane.”
“Margaret will skin me alive if anything happens to you. I need her. She’s my key to meeting with Prelate Ryland and Prince Vaughn. It’s what I’m here to do.”
“It’ll do you no good if you go mad. Stop.” He wrenched himself backward, rolling away from her. The green vines snapped and slithered away. He sat up. His arm was no longer numb and he felt stronger. “Don’t be stupid,” he told her, clambering onto his hands and knees and then to his feet. “Let’s finish this.”
They found the second brothel near where they’d entered Molford. Keros repeated the placing of the spell, and though the healing Ellyn had given him had lent strength to his body, the thing inside him continued to swell and delve deeper. He could see out of only one eye now and could hardly feel his body. Only the drive of his rage kept him moving as he wanted. When he finished . . . he doubted he would be himself any longer.
The last brothel was halfway to Molford manor. It was a larger affair, and just as new as the first one. No doubt it served the regent when he was here as well as his guests and senior officers. The low iron gates were closed and latched. It didn’t matter. Keros leaned against the brick gatepost and blew the spell to the doors, watching it settle with satisfaction. If he was right, then the regent would find himself stricken. “The sooner the better,” he muttered before turning away.
They started back toward the inn. The eastern sky was turning pink and orange as the sun started to rise. Keros didn’t fight the arm that Ellyn thrust around him. His thoughts shifted and swirled like sand stirred up in water. He faintly heard a noise, but couldn’t sort out what it might be. Ellyn shoved against him, pushing him off the side of the road into the ditch. They fell, splashing into the foot-deep water. Keros lay on top of the woman—who was she?—unable to understand her words. At last she slugged him in the shoulder and squirmed out from beneath him, lying on the bank as the rumbling approached closer.
He crawled up beside her, his head reeling, his muscles twitching and jerking. “What?” he said stupidly. Sounds rang in his ears, and everywhere he looked, the world melted together. Something was wrong. He reached for majick and it came to him, filling him with crackling, hot energy. His vision twisted and shadows leaped up malevolently around him. His heart pounded and he swung whips of crackling energy at them.
The woman banged his head with her fist and the majick fled away as he—Where was he? Who was she? What was happening? A hand pressed against his mouth and she lay across his back, pressing him down. “Quiet.”
A carriage rolled into view. It was large and pulled by four horses slathered in mud. A squad of ten Blackwatch rode on horses before and after. The company clattered by, heading toward the manor. He saw them clearly for a single moment, then felt something stab through his head.
“The regent,” the woman muttered nonsensically, then climbed quickly to her feet. “Hurry. We have to tell the others.”
He staggered up, his gaze fixed on the retreating coach. He hated that coach. He couldn’t remember why. He lifted a hand as if to cast a spell. She caught his arm, yanking him around. Majick crackled around and he tried to pull away. He didn’t want to hurt her. He knew that.
“Keros! Come with me. Come with me now,” she ordered sharply.
She grabbed his hand and dragged him back toward Molford. He followed, turning to look over his shoulder one last time. Pinpricks wrapped his skull and his mouth tasted like brine. He wondered who he was.
Chapter 10
It was several turns of the glass before Nicholas could convince Margaret to go to bed. “You’re exhausted and you can do nothing until they get back. Better to get your rest while you can.”
She’d risen and withdrawn into the bedchamber, shutting the door firmly behind herself. Nicholas had lain on the chaise and dozed. Every time he started to sleep, he was tormented with visions of Carston. His son was a sweet child, trusting and innocent. Nicholas dragged his fingers through his hair. He was going to make Geoffrey pay for this. Painfully.
He was on his feet the moment he heard the light knock at the door. He turned the lock and swung it open. Ellyn led in Keros. He was gray. He shuffled inside, his body awkward and clumsy. Nicholas drew back as he met the majicar’s eyes. There was a bright green shine in them that reminded Nicholas of the reflection of firelight in a mad dog’s eyes.
Ellyn led Keros to a chair and pushed him down into it. Just then, Margaret opened the door of the bedchamber. Her hair was tousled and eyes were sunken and hollow. She saw Keros and hurried to his side.
“What happened? Where have you been?”
“I couldn’t stop him,” Ellyn said and then coughed.
Nicholas handed her a cup of water and noticed a yellow shine softly glossing her eyes. Fear prickled down his neck as he recalled the story of the insane majicars Keros had fought in Sylmont. She gulped the water down and then dropped down on a chair. “I couldn’t stop him, so I helped him. We made a spell and set it at each of the brothels.” She shook her head as if to clear it. “The regent is here.”
“What?” Margaret exclaimed, whirling to look at Ellyn. “Are you sure?”
Ellyn only nodded and drank more water. Margaret looked at Nicholas as if asking for help. He started to reach out to comfort her but stopped himself. There was nothing he could say. He looked at the wasted majicar.
“Let’s see about him first. Then we’ll come up with a plan for Geoffrey.”
Margaret hesitated, then nodded. She turned back to Keros and grasped his face between her palms. “What have you done?” she whispered.
He blinked at her slowly. “Who are you?” he asked. “I don’t want to hurt you.” Then a spasm rippled down his body and he convulsed. His feet thumped against the floor and his body twisted and wrenched from side to side. He bit his lips and blood ran down his chin and flecked his cheeks. Nicholas snatched a wooden spoon from the table and shoved it between Keros’s teeth to keep him from biting his tongue in half.
Majick streaked beneath Keros’s skin like forked lightning. Nicholas yanked Margaret away, holding her by her arms as she fought him. “No. It’s too dangerous,” he told her grimly.
Ellyn stood, holding her illidre in one hand and setting her hand on Keros’s shoulder. She rocked back on her heels and majick raced up her arm. Green vines sprouted from her hand and nosed across Keros. The majick sizzling through him reacted violently. It rose in a whirling cloud of metal thorns. They spiraled in the air, expanding like a cloud of angry wasps. Nicholas shoved Margaret down behind a chair, covering her with his body.
She struggled. “Let me up!”
She was strong and knew how to fight. She elbowed him in the ribs and thrust herself sideways. He fell on top of her and she put her hands flat against his chest, shoving as she twisted. Both of them were hampered by their long dressing gowns, Margaret more so because hers was so big. Nicholas clamped his legs around hers and gripped her hands. His greater strength and weight kept her still.
“Stop. You can’t help him now. You’ll only get hurt.”
“Get off me, you cracking bastard,” she said, arching her back and bucking her hips, trying to get enough leverage to free herself.
“No. It serves neither of us.” She went still, her body rigid in his arms. He became aware how intimate their position was and that only their dressing gowns separated their naked bodies. He pulled back, easing his hold. “You aren’t going to do anything stupid, are you?”
“I’m fairly certain I already have,” she said, glowering at him. “Let me up.”
He rolled off her, keeping one hand on her shoulder. He didn’t trust that she wouldn’t rush out from behind the protection of the chair. He didn’t have to worry. Shock held them both frozen in place.
The spinning majick from Keros had
coalesced around both majicars. Blood ran from a hashing of slices on Ellyn. Her clothing was tattered and wet with more blood. Her eyes gleamed bright yellow now. But she hadn’t moved. Her hand was still pressed to Keros’s chest. Green vines writhed about the majicar’s body so that Nicholas could hardly see him.
Margaret sucked in a sharp breath. “They’ll kill each other.”
“She’s trying to heal him.”
“The battle that Keros stopped in the Riddles—it could have started as a healing.”
His hand tightened reassuringly. “Don’t borrow trouble.”
“You saw his eyes. And he didn’t know who I was.” Her expression tightened and for the first time since their journey began, Nicholas could read fear on her face.
“He knew enough to know he didn’t want to hurt you. He’ll be all right,” he said without any conviction at all.
They both watched, helpless to do anything else. Then suddenly something changed. Margaret clutched Nicholas’s arm. “Do you see that?”
“It’s stopping,” he said. The silvery white ball of Keros’s majick had indeed begun to slow. As it did, its sharp, protruding spines began to soften and melt. Soon it turned into a shapeless blob and settled down to lay like a mantle over the mass of Ellyn’s healing vines.
Ellyn was panting, her ribs pumping like bellows. She was so covered in blood that it was nearly impossible to find a clean patch of skin. She sagged against Keros’s chair, half lying across his chest. As she did, Keros’s majick rose and wrapped her in a silvery sheath. The green vines of her majick tickled the air and then dropped lifeless before fading to nothingness.
“Sweet mother Chayos,” Nicholas murmured.
Margaret shook off his hand and went to stand beside the two of them. Keros was unconscious and his eyelids twitched as if he had bad dreams. His breathing was shallow and quick. She put out a hand to touch him, then curled her hand into a fist and dropped it back to her side. “What do we do with them?”
“There’s nothing we can do except wait.”
“I hate it,” she said, starting to pace.
Nicholas watched her, rubbing his hand against his ribs where she’d elbowed him. “I am shocked.”
A smile flickered across her mouth. “You must be tearing yourself apart wanting to rescue your son.”
He looked down, his stomach hardening around the lead ball that had formed when he’d learned of Carston’s kidnapping. “I have whatever patience is required,” he said.
“I know,” she said. “I’ve studied you for years now. You are quiet and steady and never let your temper get the best of you. You lay plans like a farmer plants seeds. You are ruthless and rarely show mercy to your enemies. You tend your plots and wait with infinite patience until they come to fruition. You’ll do a quick prune or weeding if need be, but you don’t let emotion rule your actions”—she paused—“unless it comes to family. Then there’s no limit to what you will do—even master patience when you want to be smashing down doors.”
He stared at her. It was strange hearing her assessment. He would not disagree with any of it, though there was more to him than that. More that he wanted to show her, though he was unlikely to ever have the opportunity. Because she was right. In a way, he was responsible for her father’s death. He had waged a war against her family and he had encouraged others to do so—others like Geoffrey who were more willing than he was to kill and do worse. Nicholas had trained the dogs, then let them loose. He hadn’t killed William Rampling, but he’d forged the weapons.
“Would it surprise you to learn that I admire you?” she asked.
He gaped. “Very much.”
“You are driven. I understand that. And you believe in what you’re doing; it is not mere greed and ambition like the regent. I sometimes wish I could be as ruthless as you, as patient. It would make things easier. I certainly would not be here now. I would have let Ryland and Vaughn handle things as they saw fit. I would not have revealed the safe house to you and I would not have betrayed my brothers. But most of all, I would not be standing here watching my friend die. It was all right to risk myself, not Keros.”
“I’m sorry,” Nicholas said.
She blinked and then snorted. “For what?” Because he had so much to apologize for and both of them knew he’d do most of it again.
“I wish this had not cost you so much.”
“It was my choice. And in the end, maybe it will be worth it. Maybe you will ally with the Ramplings and we’ll take Crosspointe back.” She didn’t sound as if she thought any of it was worth losing Keros.
Nicholas eyed the unconscious majicar, feeling an unfamiliar wriggle of jealousy in his gut.
It was almost a full glass later when the majick cocooning Ellyn began to shrink and fade away. It rippled like silk in the wind, then turned ghostly pale and disappeared altogether. Nicholas came to his feet.
Both majicars lay as if asleep. Margaret reached out and shook Ellyn. The other woman did not respond.
“Help me carry them to the bed,” she said.
Nicholas grabbed Ellyn’s arm and lifted her over his shoulder, her head dangling down his back. He flopped her down onto the bed and returned to get Keros. Margaret had pulled Keros’s arm over her shoulder. Nicholas did the same and together they dragged him across the floor.
They pulled the boots and coats off the two unconscious majicars. Margaret sucked in a breath as she examined Ellyn. The majicar’s wounds were scabbed over, and as he watched, Nicholas saw them starting to fade into healthy skin.
“How is that possible?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Perhaps it’s a miracle.” But he saw her shiver. She fetched a washbasin of warm water and a washrag. She cleaned the blood from Ellyn as best she could and then covered both of them with the counterpane before retreating to the sitting room. She snatched up her clothing from where she’d hung it near the fire after washing it in the bathtub.
“What are you doing?”
“We need clothing appropriate for Sophia and Avery Shevring, and we need information. I’m going to get both.”
“Is that wise?”
“Do you have another suggestion? You want Carston back, don’t you?”
“Of course I do,” he said, stung.
“Well, then—we’re running out of time. When they wake up, we’ll need to be ready.”
When, not if. “Then I’ll go with you.”
She tossed an angry glance at him, her cheeks flushed. “No. Someone has to stay here and watch them.”
He crossed the room, grabbing her arm and twisting her to face him. She’d channeled her worry and fear into anger and purpose. But it made her reckless. “Someone has to watch your back. I’m not letting you wander around this nest of vipers alone.”
“Nest of vipers?”
“This is the regent’s stronghold, and let us not forget how hungry he is to capture Ramplings. And you are not just a Rampling, but you are Princess Margaret. He is very hungry for you; he’ll treat you with extra-special care.” The idea was beyond repugnant. “You need me.”
“If anyone recognizes you, we’ll be in a lot of trouble. I’m almost invisible. No one ever associates me with the putridly stupid Princess Margaret.”
“They won’t,” he promised. “There’s nothing I can do for Keros or Ellyn. Staying here is pointless.”
“Fine,” she said, giving in suddenly. She’d been drawn too tight and was ready to snap.
She went back through the bedchamber to the garderobe to dress. Nicholas pulled on his clothes. They were still damp and clammy. He grimaced and pulled on his socks, stamped into his boots and slid his knives down into the shafts. The one around his neck he’d never removed. His rapier he left hanging over a chair. No serving man wore a sword like that.
He heard Margaret come out of the garderobe. When she didn’t immediately return to the sitting room, he went to look in. She had stopped beside Keros’s head and was smoothing the counterpane with gentle ha
nds. She stroked his hair away from his face, then bent down and whispered something Nicholas could not hear.
Nicholas felt a surge of something that bore a horrifying resemblance to jealousy and retreated to the sitting room. He choked back a harsh laugh at his stupidity. Margaret Rampling? He was a fool.
“We should go,” Margaret said as she joined him. She donned her cloak with businesslike determination. “If Ellyn did see the regent, then we must move very quickly. The longer we are here, the more likely he is to want to meet the Shevrings and find out their business.” She frowned at him. “You can’t wear your greatcoat. It’s too expensive.” Her gaze ran from his head to his foot. “Everything you’re wearing is too expensive. Wait here. I’ll fetch something less conspicuous.”
She slipped out into the hallway and shut the door before he could take more than two steps to interfere. He found himself facing the door. He reached for the latch and then drew back his hand. She knew what she was doing.
Still, by the time she returned more than a quarter of a glass later, he was seething. She knocked at the door softly and he yanked her inside. “We go together next time, or not at all,” he rasped.
She handed him the clothing—brown wool trousers and vest, a canvas shirt and a moth- eaten cloak. He ignored the garments, still scowling at her. Her expression turned haughty. “I am not yours to command,” she said. “You may bluster and order me about all you want, but I know the business of the shadows far better than you. It is what I was made to do. Now, put those on before I go without you.”
He hesitated, then turned and stripped with no regard for her presence. He was afraid if he went into the dressing room to change, she’d be gone before he returned. His movements were jerky with anger—mostly at himself. His attraction to her was foolish and unwarranted. She was merely the best means he had for rescuing Carston—he would not let himself mistake gratitude for real feelings. He told himself this firmly and made himself believe it.
The inn was bustling and the taproom filled with men in search of breakfast. Margaret and Nicholas slipped out through a storage area and hurried down the main street. The smells of fresh bread and smoked meat filled the air. The sun gleamed from between the tatters of storm clouds, and there was a jauntiness to the villagers. The news of the regent’s arrival ran through Molford like a wildfire. His name was on everyone’s lips.
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